


The Sight of Ginger

by Aerilon452



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Complete, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 07:19:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15310284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerilon452/pseuds/Aerilon452
Summary: Brienne is wounded in a small battle with the dead and Tormund is there for her to tend to her wounds.





	The Sight of Ginger

There had been a small battle with a contingent of the dead, and their White Walker commander. Tormund had taken a few blows during the fight, but it was nothing that wouldn’t heal. The one he was concerned about was Brienne, the tall blond beauty that had stolen his heart the moment he laid eyes upon her. She had fought as fiercely as any Wildling or Crow, but all of her strength hadn’t kept a dead thing from hurting her. Marring her face were angry red gashes from the claws of a bear that had been fashioned into club. The moment she went down, he leapt in to defend her back until she could regain her footing, and jump back into the fray. When she didn’t get back up, his heart dropped. Her face was covered with blood, and she was too still for his liking.

At Winterfell, Tormund sat beside Brienne’s bed, waiting for her to wake. The blood had been cleaned from her face, snow soaked clothing removed, and warm blankets covered her while she continued to sleep. After the man in black robes left them, he took his place back beside her. Tormund took her hand, feeling the coldness in her tips. He massaged warmth back into her hand, doing anything that might help her wake faster. But he feared that would not happen for some time. She didn’t so much as twitch at his touch.

Night had fallen, the cry of a dire wolf could be heard, and all the inhabitants of the keep were settling down. Tormund remained where he was, as there was nothing more for him to do to help his people. Those not manning the battlements, or guarding the encampment, were inside the walls and in whatever bed they could find. Even the poor boy, Pod, had finally retired to his small room. He picked himself up from the chair to go over to the fireplace to add a few more logs to rekindle the fire and bring more warmth into the room. After that was done, he removed the heavy skins he wore to protect him from the winter chill. Then he returned to his chair, scooting it closer to the side of the bed, and sat vigil over his beautiful warrior.

Halfway through the night, Tormund was roused out of sleep by light pain filled whimpers. Brienne was still asleep, but a fever had taken hold. He thought this might happen. So, he went to his satchel pulling out a small clay pot that contained a salve he knew would stop the fever. Dabbing some onto the tip of his finger, he spread it over the cuts. It was a small mercy that she was still unconscious. The smell alone was enough to put anyone out. A few minutes later, Brienne quieted down. That left Tormund to take his place in the chair again, his hand holding hers.

The last thing Brienne remembered was something coming towards her face. She’s managed to miss most of the blow, but hadn’t seen the claws. She felt the way they sliced into her face as she missed stepped. That mistake should have been the end of her as she hit her head on the ground. Now, she was waking up in Winterfell, in her bed, in a warm room. Someone was holding her hand, and it wasn’t Podrick. The hand was too rough to be his. All she could manage was opening her right eye. The left still hurt, though less than what she expected. She saw a mane of ginger hair next to her hand. Tormund had stayed with her. 

Brienne knew she should react, given that she was severely under dressed, and he had his head resting on her bed. It was obvious that he’d dozed off. She couldn’t be responsible for waking him. It would make her feel terrible. As gently as she could, she tried to shift, but even the smallest movement had her head hurting, the cuts to her face felt like they were being ripped open. Brienne couldn’t hold back the yelp of pain.

Tormund hadn’t meant to let sleep take him, but once he set his head down, his eyes closed, and that was that. Then, what felt like seconds later, a sound woke him. Through a blurry gaze he saw Brienne, her left hand covering the left side of her wounded face. “Let me,” he slurred out. Without minding all the peculiar Southern propriety, he pulled her hand away to inspect the slashes. Her pale skin was raw, an angry red, and fresh blood had welled up in the wounds. Tormund said nothing as he picked up a clean cloth and started cleaning the blood off. 

Brienne bit her bottom lip and fisted her hands in the heavy fur blanket to keep from giving away how much pain she was in. She knew he was trying to be as gentle as he could, but the wounds had to be cleaned. It didn’t stop her breaths from being uneven. “Where’s Pod?” she asked in a vain attempt to take her mind off of the agony rolling through her. When first she had been given Podrick, she hadn’t wanted a Squire, nor had she needed one, but as time wore on, she found him a decent traveling companion. Right now, her head was pounding with pressure, and she needed the distraction

“Boy was exhausted,” Tormund offered up. “I sent him to bed.” The slashes were finally cleaned, and now came the salve. He admired that squire, his devotion to Brienne.

Brienne sighed in relief when Tormund had finished. “How bad is it?” She wasn’t a particularly vain person, knowing that her looks wouldn’t match anyone in all of the Seven Kingdoms, but it was still her face.

“You’re lucky you didn’t lose an eye,” Tormund said. Looking back at her, seeing the vicious cuts across her face, she was still beautiful to him. He sat next to her, holding the small clay pot in the palm of his left hand. “This is going to hurt.”

Brienne nodded as much as she was able. But the moment his finger came close to her face, she was pulling away. The smell was terrible. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t go very far. Tormund was still able to spread the concoction on her nearest wound. “What is that?” Brienne asked, her lip curling in disgust.

“Cow urine…” Tormund mumbled. 

“Cow urine?” Brienne repeated.

“Boiled down, and mixed with other medicinal herbs.” Tormund added. 

“Oh, no!” Brienne put her hands to his chest, pushing slightly. “Water. Clean water.”

“As you wish,” Tormund relented. “But come noon, the puss will run, and you will be taken with fever.”

All of that sounded unappealing to Brienne. She nodded once, letting Tormund continue. For being a Wildling, she found him surprisingly gentle. He started with the cut near her hair line, moving down slowly, coating the gouges generously. The salve smelled terrible, but minutes after it was applied, the pain started to fade. She could breathe a little easier now. “Thank you….”

Tormund grunted, setting the pot back on the small table next to the bed. He settled himself in the chair again, and resumed watching over her. This time she was staring right back at him. He couldn’t help the small smile that curved his bearded lips. They stared at each other until her eyes closed. 

Later, the sun broke through the darkness bathing the North in as much warmth as the long winter would allow. Brienne came awake from the fierce pang of hunger. Next to her bed, Tormund was asleep, snoring lightly. Unbidden, a smile curved her lips. He had stayed with her all night. This was the true man under the Wildling veneer. He had to be hard for his men to follow him. He had to be hard to serve the King of the North. Quietly, so as not to wake him, she fell from bed, and dressed. Before she left, she showed him a little kindness. She could do that from within her chamber, away from the prying eyes of all around them. Brienne brushed back Tormund’s unruly ginger hair, placing a kiss to his brow. He slept on, unaware that she had shown him affection. 

 

******

Down in the dining hall, Brienne sat alone at an empty table making sure she didn’t inhale her food. She was glad to be alone with her thoughts, as they had settled on Tormund. His gentleness with her. It was more than she thought him capable of, honestly. Here was a man from North of the Wall, a place that hardened men to everything, showing her such tenderness as he attended to her minor wounds. And they were minor compared to those suffered by others in the battle with the dead. He had chosen to stay by her side, rather than look after his men. 

All of his attention confused Brienne. She was not a great Southern beauty. Those who called her ‘Brienne the Beauty’ did so in a snide, cruel manner. Yet, to him, she was ravishing. Or so Pod had informed her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about his feelings for her, his intentions. No man had ever shown such intense desire for her.

A door opened, the sound of it filling the hall, and it served to break Brienne out of her thoughts. For a split second she thought it was Tormund who had come looking for her, but when she saw Jaime, she was a little disappointed. Not that she wasn’t happy to see him, happy to be on the same side for one. 

“Glad to see we haven’t lost you,” Jaime sat down across from her. His eyes immediately went to the claw marks on her face. 

“Would you miss me terribly?” Brienne joked. It was easy to joke with him, given that he saved her life twice.

“I would, in fact. You’re one of the few people who actually likes me in this dreary place,” Jaime replied, in a light manner, but his words were no less true. Tyrion and Bronn were the other two. He couldn’t help but look at the angry red gashes on her face. His heart clenched in sympathy for her. 

Brienne turned her face away, inadvertently showing him her left side, the wounded side. “When I went down, I thought that was it. I was done.”

“Not a chance of that,” Jaime said. “That red haired Wildling leapt valiantly to your defense.”

Brienne looked at him again, “He did?” She shouldn’t sound so shocked.

“Oh, yes. He fought very bravely, so I’m told.” Jaime answered. “You didn’t see him?”

“I was unconscious,” Brienne spat.

“That’s too bad. You might have been impressed with him,” Jaime said. He’d seen the way the ginger Wildling had looked at Brienne. Perhaps in another time, he might have looked at her in the same way. If he was another man and not a Lannister. His fate was fixed and his heart was always with Cersei. 

Brienne was about to make her reply when her eye caught Tormund’s. The weight of his stare had her swallowing hard. She felt her heart beat faster than it ever had. Normally, there were more people around when he would give her one of his intense looks, but the only living soul was Jaime. She couldn’t muster up a scathing look to throw at him. Somehow, Brienne knew it would be hard to show him such ill contempt ever again given that he had stayed by her side all night tending to her wounds.

Jaime couldn’t help but look from Brienne to the Wildling. He knew the look the other man was giving her. That was a look he had for Cersei. It was a look he would always have for her. To Brienne he muttered, “He’s in love with you.” Then, he was up, and leaving the two of them to their staring contest. 

Tormund didn’t so much as snarl in the direction of the other man. His gaze was firmly fixed upon Brienne. He didn’t like the other man, didn’t trust him, and he liked him even less for the easy way he spoke to his tall beauty. It was the way of the Free Folk; to claim a woman they deemed strong and worthy of bearing their children. Tormund was giving Brienne the chance to choose him in return. He hoped she chose him. He sat down asking, “What did the golden haired cunt want?”

Brienne scowled at him, “His name is Jaime. You can use it, you know.” Why was she scolding him? Everyone in Winterfell insulted Jaime; even Bronn, who had come with him from King’s Landing. She had insulted him a time or two, herself, but she was trying to do better. Every time she thought she might be unkind to him, she remembered the confession he made to her in the bath, and she would stop herself. 

“I don’t want to,” Tormund said, snagging a piece of bacon from her plate. As he had in the past, he ate it with great relish in front of her. She held his gaze the entire time.

“You don’t call anyone by their given names,” Brienne stated. 

“They’ll be dead soon…. What’s the point?” Tormund licked his fingers, savoring the taste of bacon grease. He then grabbed the last piece and devoured it.

“They’re people,” Brienne said, watching the way he licked his fingers. She couldn’t help but wonder how he would use his tongue on her. The thought made her blush. She felt the heat of it along the slashes to her face. It made her grunt in discomfort.

“How’s the face?” Tormund asked to change the subject. He wished he could reach out and caress her unmarred cheek. Though, if he tried, he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t end up with a knife through his hand.

Brienne scoffed in self-deprecation, “I think my nose is ruined.” She brought her left hand up, to cover the healing gashes, trying to shield them from view. The throbbing was starting to take the bulk of her attention now.

Tormund pushed aside the plate and said, “It looks perfect to me.”

“You’re just saying that…” Brienne dropped her hand. She didn’t know what do to, or how to feel when he said things like that. 

“I’m from North of the Wall,” Tormund informed her. He picked himself up from the table, and walked around to stand beside her. “Come on, your cuts need tending to.”

Brienne knew he was right, and she got up without so much as an argument. She didn’t say a word until they were back in her chambers. He had her take a seat on the bed while he retrieved the Wildling remedy that was working better than all the medicine the maester’s could ever use. He tipped her head back, angling it to the side slightly. His fingers were surprisingly gentle on her chin. “Why do you like me?” she found herself asking.

“It’s not obvious to you?” Tormund replied. Her eyes were closed as she shook her head. She didn’t want to look at him as if she were bracing herself against anything he could say to her. “To me, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Brienne scowled, pulling away from his hold. “Why do you keep saying that? I have never been thought of as beautiful in my life.” She stood up from the bed, going around the other side so that she could have some distance between them. 

“You are a rare beauty.” Tormund said again. He would say it as many times as he could until she believed him. 

“Stop it!” Brienne shouted, and then grit her teeth in frustration. She shouldn’t be reacting this strongly. Years ago, she’d accepted that she would never be looked at in an adoring manner. She wouldn’t be desired for any reason. That was until she crossed Tormund’s path. He looked at her with ardent desire. It confused her. “They call me ‘Brienne the Beauty’ as an insult.” Her back touched the stone wall as her insides quivered from the torrent of emotions swirling inside her. 

“Then they’re stupid shits who don’t deserve to breathe,” Tormund came to stand next to her, hoping to catch her eye. It was a sad thing she had never been told how beautiful she was. Every man that made a joke of it should have their tongues ripped out.

Brienne shook her head, trying not to listen to him. She didn’t want to believe what he was telling her. His words, gruffly spoke, they made her want to believe him. Tormund had gotten through all of her defenses, when no other man could. It baffled her how he managed it. All his leers, his monstrous eating manner towards her. All of it got to her. “Stop it…” she said sadly.

“To me, all that is considered beautiful pales in comparison to you,” Tormund whispered to her. He brushed the tip of his nose against the edge of her ear, and then he whispered again, “You are beautiful.”

Brienne’s bottom lip quivered. “Why are you working so hard to break me?” That’s what it felt like to her. The persona she showed to the world was one she had worked hard to forge. It protected her from the cruelty so often thrown her way. Then there he was telling her all the things she never thought she would hear from anyone.

“Oh, no…” Tormund said, “I want you wild. I want you full of fire so that with one touch, you set me aflame.” Carefully, and slowly, so as not to risk frightening her, he set his hand to her belly. The muscles were shaking against his palm. He curled his fingers into the tunic and pulled her in against his chest, placing his lips against her unmarred cheek. Tormund didn’t expect her to react, he just wanted her to know that he was here, and that he was being true.

Brienne was facing a moment where she could push him away, pull her armor around herself, and lock away her emotions. Good sense told her that was what she should do. But she didn’t want to listen to good sense. She wanted to feel, if only for this one moment in time. Turning into him, she curled trembling fingers into the front of his shirt. There was bravery in battle, and then there was bravery to let someone in. She was letting Tormund get close. The first thing she felt was his beard brushing her face as their lips met.

Tormund never tasted something so sweet as Brienne’s lips, and he knew nothing would compare to her. The kiss she gave him was light, hesitant almost. He had to reign his passion in, and not scare her away. As strong as she was, she was also fragile. One wrong move on his part, a show of strength and dominance too early and she would run from him like a frightened rabbit. Keeping his hands on her waist, he moved back until he was against the closed door. He was man and Wildling enough to let her be the one to be in control.

Brienne felt a spark of hunger ignite inside her from only the press of their lips together. It was a hunger she feared would consume her as she leaned into him, feeling as much of him against her as she could. From under the weight of their ardor, they slid down to the floor, with Brienne astride Tormund’s thighs. Her body took over, rocking back and forth over the growing bulge. His fingers dug into her hips, slowing her down, guiding her back and forth in a gentler manner. After long seconds of feasting at his mouth, she had to break the seal of their lips to draw in air. She didn’t know how far she was prepared to go.

Tormund held himself in check, when normally he would have had her in her bed before she could blink, but she wasn’t one of the Free Folk. Brienne was new to his way of doing things. He wanted her to let go of her control and feel. “You want me to go?” Tormund asked. She shook her head no, resting her forehead to his. Against his skin, he could feel her wounds burning.

Brienne felt her head swimming, and her face was hot. Each gash on her face throbbed with pain, vying for her attention. Her fingers gripped the front of his shirt as she tried to hold on to the feelings from a moment ago. She didn’t want to be in pain. “Will you help me?” Brienne wasn’t too proud to ask him that. If her time spent with Podrick had taught her anything, it was that she could ask for help. 

“Of course, beautiful lady,” Tormund smiled broadly at her.

When Brienne stood, she looked down at him. She held his gaze as he also stood, making sure there was no space between their bodies. “I’m not a Lady.”

“You feel like one,” Tormund said, having felt the way she’d rubbed against him a moment ago.

Brienne playfully rolled her eyes, and then sat on the edge of her bed again. He followed, but stayed standing. In the palm of his hand, he had the clay pot that contained the medicine he’d been using on her. She tilted her head back, and angled the wounded side of her face towards him. The smell, she was braced for, but the light touch of his finger to her face, that made her heart clench. She felt her eyes grow heavy, her energy waning.

Tormund grinned when he saw her eyes fighting to stay open. “Let the medicine work.” 

“Don’t go…” Brienne managed to say through the cloud of sleep trying to claim her.

“Never,” Tormund took his place once again in the chair to watch over her while she slept.

 

********

 

Evening came again with most of the residents of Winterfell gathering together in the great hall for the warmth and for the food. Tyrion sat watching each person gathered, taking their measure so that he might serve his Queen through the long night. At one table he saw Brienne of Tarth with Podrick as her shadow. The tall Lady-Knight was keeping her head down, her face angled away from any who would look upon her. He knew how that felt as he brought his hand up to touch the scar adorning is own face. The only one trying to engage her was a red haired wildling. Tyrion had seen them many times around Winterfell, but never had the occasion to speak to the either of them. It was high time he fixed that. “Lady Brienne, it’s past time I offer you my sincerest thanks.” 

Brienne scowled at Tyrion Lannister, many called the Imp. “For what?” she asked, rather harshly. It was her normal state, and she was feeling more like herself. Sleep had done her good, and so had the salve Tormund coated her wounds with.

Tyrion, not dissuaded by her gruffness, sat down on her left side. He couldn’t help but notice the way some of her short yellow hair fell across her face, obscuring the red cuts. She was self-conscious of them, just as he’d been when his own face had been scarred. “I wanted to thank you for accepting Podrick into your service. You saved his life.” It was one of the regrets he had, putting Pod in harm’s way for simply knowing him, serving him loyally.

“Don’t thank me,” Brienne frowned. “It was your brother’s idea. I had no use for a Squire….” She looked over her shoulder at Pod, and added, “Still don’t.” But this was said in a softer manner. He had come to grow on her, she even felt she could trust him to a certain extent. 

“Whatever you say, My Lady.” Pod responded.

Brienne smirked, but tried to hide it. To her surprise, she and Pod got on rather well. Plus, he was eager to learn how to fight, so one day he would be more than a Squire.

Tyrion tapped the tips of his fingers on the table, “I also wanted to say, they won’t be so bad.” He knew how he felt when he looked at his own war ravaged face. When he looked upon what would now be his face, he consoled himself with the knowledge that he could have been dead.

Brienne scrunched her forehead, not looking at the Imp, but instead her eyes went to Tormund. He and Pod were the only two who would look at her directly, even when she didn’t want them too. “What won’t?”

“Your scars,” Tyrion said lightly.

“You think I honestly care about my face?” Brienne snapped, keeping her voice down. She’d long since stopped caring how she looked, and how she looked to others.

Tormund grunted, “I care about your face.” He grinned at her when she narrowed her gaze at him.

“As well you should,” Tyrion nodded his head. “It’s a nice face, an honest face. I rather like it.”

“You have shifty eyes for a little man,” Tormund said in the little man’s direction.

Tyrion laughed at that, “I’ve been accused of, and called, worse.”

“Did you want something Lord Tyrion?” Brienne asked, pushing aside her empty plate. In the next instant it was gone. Pod shuffled off to take to the kitchen. She was not in the mood to bandy crooked words with anyone, let alone the Littlest Lannister, turned Hand of the Queen.

“Why do I have to want something? Can’t we talk, get to know one another. Your King is allied with my Queen so that we all might fight the dead.” Tyrion said before he took a gulp of wine from his cup.

“You’re a Lannister, and you always want something.” Brienne replied sharply. She knew that Tyrion was the least treacherous of the remaining Lannister family. To her mind, Jaime was second. The greatest threat to them all, if they weren’t killed by the dead, would be Cersei. “What do you want?” she asked, again.

“Peace, love, and prosperity,” Tyrion pounded his fist on the table.

“You’d have better luck learning to fly,” Brienne scoffed.

“Speaking of flying…” Tyrion began.

Brienne sighed audibly, “Please don’t, because I don’t care.” It wasn’t polite, and it certainly wasn’t proper, but she got up from the table before Tyrion Lannister could regale her with one of his stories. She made it all the way back to her chamber where she took a seat in the chair Tormund had occupied. Brienne crossed her arms over her chest, and draped her right knee over her left. There, she waited for him.

Tormund strode down the hall, and didn’t bother knocking on her door before walking in. He found her scowling, as he expected, and shut the door. Confidently, he went to her, where he immediately uncrossed her legs. Tormund stood between her parted knees waiting for her to tell him to stop. While she slept the afternoon away, he swore to himself that he would only go as far as she was ready to go. She wasn’t a Wildling and he wasn’t a Southerner. 

Brienne uncrossed her arms, stretching out her hands until her fingers curled in his belt. While she looked at him, she yanked the leather free. The top layer of furs parted showing her the shirt he wore underneath. He shrugged off the coat, tossing it over towards the foot of the bed. She was about to touch him, when he caught her wrists in his hands. 

Tormund pulled her up, hauling her against his chest. He started pulling the leather cord free, so he could open the top layer of her clothing. Finally, he was able to push the garment off of her, letting it pool behind her on the floor. The light tunic she wore was nearly ready to come undone. Tormund reached for the thin fabric when she grabbed his hands, stopping him as he’d done to her.

Brienne pulled back from him, toeing off her boots. She went over to the fireplace where a large bear skin rug was spread out. Keeping her eyes on him, she lowered herself down, and waited for him to follow. Her heart was racing the whole time. This was not how she imagined taking a man into her bed. A wildling. He was unlike any other man she’d been around; including Jaime Lannister. Tormund was her choice. She wanted it to be him. Brienne turned her head to the side, watching him, waiting to see what he would do next.

Tormund could see she was shaking, and it had nothing to do with the chill that invaded Winterfell. He grabbed the fur blanket off the bed, and then joined her by the fire. Gently, he rested his hand on her stomach feeling the way she was quivering. “You don’t have to be nervous.” Her way of answering was to swallow, hard. 

“I’m not good at this…” Brienne said, her right hand coming up to cover his.

“At what?” Tormund asked.

“At… umm….” Brienne cleared her throat, looking away. A blush rose in her cheeks, going to war with the heated ravaged edges of the slashes across her face.

“Ah…” Tormund caught on. He needed to put her at ease and to do that, he showed her that he was capable of great tenderness. Leaning down, he kissed her collar bone while his hand moved back and forth in slow, comforting passes over her abdomen. She settled, and stopped shaking as bad as she had been. “You can trust that I won’t hurt you,” Tormund breathed out, his lips close to her ear.

“I believe you won’t,” Brienne confirmed, sitting up. She untied the laces of her tunic, letting it drop off her shoulders. The last man she had been naked around had been Jaime, in a bath tub, and she hadn’t expected him. That time she felt the need to hide, to cover herself. Tormund didn’t have that effect on her. There were times when his looks aggravated her, infuriated her even, but it was a cover. Tonight, she reached out to him and he wasn’t leaving.

Tormund reached out, touching the tip of his finger to the hollow of her throat. For a second she tensed. Then, as he drew his finger down, she relaxed into his touch. He brushed the back of his hand under the curve of her breast, making her gasp. 

Brienne liked the way Tormund was touching her. It made her want to touch him in turn. She straddled his waist, her hands going to his shirt, and tugged it up and off of him. She was unprepared for all the scars that marred his chest. Each one meant he survived some horrendous attack that could have killed him. There was one that caught her eye, and it was right above his heart. It was a long, jagged line, years old. “What happened?” she asked.

Tormund didn’t need to look at the scar she was touching. He knew it well. “A fucking Thenn tried to kill me. I hate Thenns.”

“They’re the cannibal wildling clan, right?” Brienne had a hard time keeping them all straight in her head. At least she knew there were no Thenn’s in the wildling ranks that made their camp at Winterfell.

“Yes,” Tormund answered. “They’re nasty cunts.”

Brienne caressed the scar, before she leaned done and kissed the pale, jagged line. He cupped the back of her head, pulling her lips away from his chest. He wanted to kiss her, to taste her fire. She let him take her to the skin run, and have him settle between her thighs. Tormund didn’t remain at her lips much longer. He kissed his way down her neck, her chest, and added little nips to her stomach when he felt her shaking again. Brienne couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. Tormund’s beard was almost tickling her. She’d never had a man want to do anything like this with her. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her with a hungry expression. He pulled at the laces of her pants. Excitement raced through her making her thighs quiver.

Tormund gave her one of his looks, curling his fingers into the band of her pants. He tugged the leather down her hips, seeing the way she enjoyed a little roughness. The garment inched down her legs revealing a patch of yellow curls that held his gaze. He knew where he was going to start, to get her used to the intimate touch of a man. He wanted her dripping wet and wanting him.

Brienne felt a blush heat her cheeks from the way he was looking at her. It made her feel truly desired. She watched him take her pants off, and all the while, he had a smile on his face. Each inch of her that he revealed, he placed a kiss to her thigh, her knee, and her shin. Tormund was being so careful with her, making sure he didn’t scare her, or push her too far too fast. She could tell this went against his nature. And the fact he was doing this made her think more of him. 

Tormund moved back up her body, stopping between her thighs. He waited until she was looking at him, because he wanted her to watch. He drew her right knee over his shoulder as he pushed her left down opening her to his ravenous gaze. She gave him a subtle nod, letting him know she was ready. To put her at ease, Tormund placed a long, lingering kiss to the inside of each of her thighs. It pleased him to hear her moan. Then he moved to kiss her yellow curls, breathing in the scent of her desire. 

Brienne curled her toes into the fur beneath her foot. The feel of his tongue expertly sliding between her wet folds had her gasping, and her right hand reached down to touch his head, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Oh…” Brienne moaned. Tormund’s tongue had found the little bud and was tormenting it fiercely with the tip of his tongue to make her body flush with pleasure. She’d never felt anything like this before. Brienne couldn’t keep her cries of ecstasy silent. The muscles of her thighs quaked the closer she came to falling over the edge of pleasure.

Tormund thrust his tongue inside her, tasting the first few drops of her release. One final flick of his tongue sent her spilling over the edge. He felt her back arch, heard her cries of pleasure, and delighted in the way her fingers curled into his hair to keep him where he was. To make sure she felt as much as possible, he continued to feast, to drink deep from between her thighs. Before too long, her body was limp, and her breathing short and shallow. Tormund looked up the line of her body, licking his lips. She was flushed from cheek to bosom. The sight of her drew him up to her side so he could get the full view of her.

Brienne could barely take a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she was looking up at him; a small smile on her face. “That was…” she didn’t have the words to describe what it was she felt. Brienne brought her left hand up, the tip of her index finger touching his bottom lip. Her heart was beating wildly out of control. Then, feeling emboldened, she took his hand from her abdomen, and placed it where his lips had been. “Do it again.”

“Have you never taken a man between your thighs?” Tormund asked, slipping his middle finger inside her. She clamped down on him and moaned. He felt her virtue was still intact. “Tell me you want me, and I’ll make you mine.” Tormund stilled his actions so that she could make up her mind. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel guilt over having him as her lover. 

Brienne felt her mind clear enough so that she might think. He was giving her the chance to push him away, to deny all the emotions he stirred up inside her, and the way he made her body burn. She licked her lips saying, “I want you.” With her hand shaking, she placed it on his chest, right above his heart. Then, she slipped her arm over his shoulder so that her hand could cup the back of his head. Brienne pulled him down, placing her lips to his. She did as he'd done, letting her free hand travel down his chest until she felt the evidence of his desire. It made her freeze.

Tormund pulled back, the touch of her hand burning right through him. He wanted her, needed to be buried inside her, be he had to reign himself in. A man’s desire was new for her. The last thing he wanted was for her to spurn his advances out of fear. Tormund waited for her to move her hand in any way she saw fit. 

Brienne was unsure of what she should do. She felt the hard length of his through the front of his trousers. She looked at him seeing a fire burning in his eyes, and it was for her. That made her heart race, and her body was eager for him. It also made her hesitant. She wasn’t used to feeling carnal hungers for a man. And that made Tormund different. He awakened those desires in her. “I want to touch you…”

“Then touch me,” Tormund growled. Her hand slipped inside his pants, fingers wrapping around the hard length of him. The first stroke of her hand was tentative, but it still had him gasping. Brienne’s touch only served to heighten his desire for her. Her hand moved again, wresting a growl from him. She moved her hand down, her grip growing bolder with each stroke. He was getting harder and harder. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from plunging deep inside her, making her scream his name.

Brienne felt ready. Her body craved him with a ruthless hunger that had her blood pumping faster through her body. Brazenly, she straddled his thighs, her hand working him faster. Her other hand came up to tangle her fingers in his fiery ginger beard as her lips claimed his. He didn’t remain passive; his hands came up and gripped her hips. Brienne let her body take over. She rubbed the head of his manhood between her slick nether lips and then held him at her entrance.

Tormund let her take charge, letting her ease her body onto his well-endowed shaft. Normally, he was a man of prowess, dominating his companions to bring them both to a pleasurable climax. Brienne was different, inspiring a softer side of him that he thought the winter had killed long ago. No, that side was waiting for her. He was going to let her take all the time she needed while he savored the heat of her body bleeding into his. 

Brienne bit her bottom lip as she sank down on him, taking the head inside her intimate channel. A small whimper filled the room, it was a mixture of pain and pleasure. She closed her eyes and lowered herself down another inch. It was then he stopped her. “What?” she asked, slightly confused. 

“Don’t take me all at once,” Tormund answered. “Ease into it…” He gripped her hips, urging her up, and after a second, back down. This time, more of him entered her, and he could see from her eyes that there was less pain. She kept the slow up and down pace steady until he was almost all the way inside her. All the while, their eyes never broke their connection.

Brienne hand her hands on his shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscles as the pain she first felt faded fast until only pleasure remained. Lowering herself down again, the last of him was inside her, and she stilled her movements. Brienne wrapped her arms around him and brought her hands up to cup the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his unruly ginger hair. 

Tormund had been with many women – free folk – but none of them felt like his golden haired lady from the South. She had a tight, wet grip on his cock that was driving him insane. With his hands on her hips, he guided her back and forth and in seconds she took to the movement. They gasped and moaned together, sharing the same breath. This wasn’t just fucking, as wildlings were wont to do. Tormund Giantsbane was making love to a rare woman.

Brienne felt everything, the way Tormund touched her, the way he filled her, hitting every sensitive nerve that had fire racing through her shuddering body. Each undulation of her hips had her grip on him tightening. She never thought having a man like this would be an entirely pleasurable experience. This time when she closed her eyes, she kissed him again, and this time it was she who was plundering his mouth. Her hips moved in time with each searing kiss as she stole the breath from his lungs. 

Tormund’s body tightened like a bow string. The way Brienne was riding him had him close to spilling himself inside her. He was dizzy from her heated kisses and his heart was racing. “Come for me,” he growled. 

“Make me,” Brienne gasped her reply. She knew she was challenging him and that he was going to accept it. The world shifted when Tormund took her beneath him. He thrust in and out of her in strong, smooth strokes. She was left to moan his name in strangled gasps over and over. She was left clutching at him as she came. There were stars behind her eyes, her heart thundered furiously in her chest.

Tormund used what strength he had to hold himself above her. He spilled himself inside her, enjoying the way she milked him until they were both spent. After a few seconds, her shuddering abated, and her grip on him relaxed enough for him to pull out of her. Settling beside her, he watched as she tried to fight off sleep. The exertion of their love making coupled with the fresh injury to her face gave him a sense of satisfaction. “Rest, my beauty,” Tormund whispered.

 

*******

 

A little while later, Brienne rested on her side, her head rested on Tormund’s arm, and her eyes fixed to the flames in the hearth. Behind her, he was placing light kisses to her shoulder. The way his beard tickled her skin had her fighting back the urge to giggle. She hadn’t giggled since she was a child. It as undignified to her. Except, he was making it hard. So, she laid on her back to look at him. The fire was reflected in his eyes giving him a wicked gaze.

In the light of the fire, Tormund studied Brienne’s wounds. The salve, as terrible as it smelled, healed wounds faster than any other medicine known to man. Still, he had to makes sure they were on the mend. He tested the gouge on the bridge of her nose. Brienne closed her eyes and groaned in pain. “Least you know how to make a woman’s sound,” Tormund teased. Though, to his eyes, the lacerations were on the mend.

“Do that again, and you’ll make it,” Brienne warned, bringing her hand up, curling her fingers into his beard.

“I’ll make any sound you want,” Tormund replied. He would do anything she wanted of him.

“Good,” Brienne said nodding once. She turned over on her side again, to watch the flames and to feel the way his chest was pressed to her back. The way he touched her was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she found she was continually surprised by him. His strong hand traveled down her side, over the curve of her hip, and then caressed the swell of her backside. It was nice to be like this with someone.

Tormund wasn’t much for talking. He knew how to fight, he knew how to fuck, but talking…. What was there to talk about? They were naked, lying on fur in front of a fire. He nuzzled his nose in her mussed golden locks, drawing in as much of her as his lungs could hold. Tormund growled when she took his hand and moved it between her legs. Now, he had something to say. “Show me how to touch you.” 

Brienne rested her right middle finger over his to guide the strong digit back and forth over the little pearl nestled between her nether lips. The first touch of his calloused had her thighs tightening and her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She pressed down, adding a little more pressure to build the pleasure starting to rush through her. His hand went further until he was able to slip two fingers insider her. This time, she didn’t fight back the loud moan that escaped her.

Tormund took her instruction well, moving his fingers as she wanted them to move, pressing hard in one spot, and light in another. She was slick, ripe for the taking, but he was going to hold himself back. He was going to satisfy her with just his fingers. Pulling them out of her, he slid them once more through her nether lips. He rubbed her sensitive little bud each time her hips moved. Tormund was going to ensure that her body craved only his touch from now until the end of their days. 

Brienne gave herself over entirely to the heat between them. She angled her head back until she could take his lips to stifle the moan she could feel rising in her chest. The hand that had been guiding him came up to cover her left breast, kneading her flesh and pinching her hard nipple. A few seconds later she was clenching her thighs to still his hand and she was gasping into his mouth, “Oh yes!” Soon, she was boneless, only able to breathe.

Tormund freed his hand from between her legs to lick his fingers clean while she watched. “You taste like summer,” he said and licked his lips. 

Brienne smirked lazily at him, her mind awash with happiness. “I was born on an island,” she said and then sat up, crossing her legs. “When I was a young girl all I knew was sunshine and warmth, sand and the ocean waves crashing on the shore. After I grew tired of beating on the boys, I would go swimming in the deep blue water, diving down as far as I could go on one breath. Under the water, the world is so quiet except for the sound of my own heart.” Brienne smiled sadly, thinking about home, thinking about her father. As out of place as she felt on Tarth, it was still home, and she missed it.

Tormund sat up, immediately putting his arms around her, and kissed her shoulder. There was already so much sadness in the world, so much death. She needed something good to think about for just a little while. “You should take me there,” he said lightly. 

“You want me to take you to my home?” Brienne asked, startled by his suggestion. She couldn’t even imagine him out of his furs, let alone picture him on Tarth. If they lived through the winter, the war with he Night King, and Cersei Lannister, she wouldn’t mind seeing his reaction to her home. They had to survive first. 

“Ashamed of me, are you?” Tormund asked, teasing as much as he could. Though, there was a hint of truth to his words. Southerner’s hated the Free Folk.

“No,” Brienne answered quickly. She turned, resting her right shoulder against his strong chest and then motioned to her face. “I don’t want my father to see my face like this,” she clarified. Even though he’d trained her to fight, he still held the belief that she shouldn’t be a warrior. If they survived the Night King and his army of the dead, then she would go home. She’d been away too long and taking Tormund with her might not be the worst thing she could ever do. 

Tormund took her face in his hands and kissed each line. The cuts were warm against his lips, but he didn’t stop until he’d touched every single one of them. After he felt her body relax again, he laid down, pulling her with him. It was already a new day, but he knew he’d thoroughly exhausted the energy she managed to reclaim. Lightly, he stroked her head until he felt her body go limp. They had time together before everyone else started to rise. It would be another day of preparation, of battle planning, and waiting. 

 

THE END


End file.
